The Awakening
by Quijote3000
Summary: An innocent boy walks through the Candlekeep, while Bhaal's essence lurks ready to manifest


Jaime moved through the long corridors of Candlekeep, while he was getting more and more worried. Almost desperate. 

He couldn't whistle. 

No matter how many times he tried, it was impossible. He had watched Imoen hundreds of times, but no matter how many times he tried, the sound just didn't leave his mouth. Only air. 

Anyway, he had made a terrible mistake. He had gotten cocky, and promised Imoen that he would learn to whistle in two days, or he would do all her chores for Winthrop for a week. A whole week! 

Jaime sighed, admitting defeat. It wasn't so bad. After all, Imoen was really nice, and she would help him.

Jaime's thoughts drifted to his schedule for the day. It couldn't be worse. All morning sword training with Jondalar, the man-in-arms of Candlekeep. After lunch he had to study for the exam that Gorion was planning about Tethyr's history. He had promised Winthrop that he would help him to move some boxes from the attic of the tavern. AND he had to go to Phlydia to study some old scrolls about the political situation of Amn after the conflict in Maztica.

He also had to remember to ask Imoen to tell him about all the weird rumours that were coming from the road. 

Firebeard Elvenhair, an old friend of his, and occasional visitor of the library had told him about some iron shortage near Baldur's Gate a few weeks ago. Since then, all the travellers were coming with the same story, and the problem was apparently growing. He should ask Phlydia and...

Jaime's thoughts were interrupted when Ulraunt, ruler of Candlekeep and Keeper of the Tomes, appeared from the hallway, coming to his direction. He was busy reading a book, and he didn't notice Jaime till he was only a few meters from him. 

Ulraunt raised his eyes and saw Jaime who was making a polite smile. His reaction was surprising for a stranger. He jumped backwards, and watched him with revulsion in the eyes.

Jaime froze, and waited patiently for his reaction.

Finally, Ulraunt threw him a glare of pure revulsion, and holding tightly the book to his body, moved forward, passing Jaime as far from him as possible.

Jaime was still motionless, even the polite smile. He counted mentally to ten and turned quickly around. 

Ulraunt was watching him from a safe distance, muttering under his breath and a withering stare. When he saw that Jaime had turned around, Ulraunt quickly moved away from him.

Jaime sighed. Nothing like "meeting" Ulraunt to make oneself wonder why Tethtoril hadn't retired Ulraunt yet. The old man, with all due respect, was crazy. Tethtoril was the First Reader, the second in authority at Candlekeep. He should do something about Ulraunt. The Keeper of the Tomes had never been enthusiastic for his presence in Candlekeep. But recently he was getting worse. From the way he looked at him, he should think he had changed overnight to the body of a drow or something worse.

In the background, the voices of several monks were chanting the prophecies of the sage Alaundo, following the duty that the prophecies had to be repeated day and night so that they are never forgotten

- In the year of the turrets, a great host will come from the east like a plague of locusts. So sayeth the wise Alaundo.

- When shadows descend upon the lands, our divine lords will walk alongside us as equals. So sayeth the great Alaundo.

- The Wyrm shall wander the earth and such a pestilence will follow in his wake that all who knows of his passing shall be struck down by the plague. So sayeth the wise Alaundo.

- When conflict sweeps across the Dales the great lizards of the north shall descend with fire and fury. So sayeth the great Alaundo.

-The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sown from their passage. So sayeth the wise Alaundo.

***

Jaime hurried till he reached Phlydia's room. He knocked, but nobody answered. Jaime opened slowly the door. It was totally dark. 

- Phlydia? It's me Jaime. 

Only a grunt, probably from Phlydia, came from the place where the bed should be, although it was difficult to see anything among the darkness.

- I'm removing the curtains – warned Jaime before going to the window. There was the possibility that Phlydia was sick. He had to warn the herbalist if his assumption proved correct.

But when he turned around, the light already allowing him to fully see the room, he was surprised when he saw a ugly man with dark clothes, that was eyeing inquisitively. He had one hand in the pocked, and he appeared to be holding something there. The was something else inside the bed, but the blankets didn't let Jaime see what was it

- Ere there. You're Gorion's little whelp, aren't ya? Yeah, you match the description. You don't look so dangerous to me.

- That I am – Jaime replied coldly – Who are you and what are you doing here?

- Who I am is unimportant, although I respond to the name of Shank, but who YOU are is very much so. I apologize for this dirty bit of business, but I must seek your death. A pity, I know, but it would seem your head is worth an exceptional amount to me – answered the man coming closer with a yellow smile and a dangerous shine in the eyes.

Jaime opened the mouth again, but he closed it when he saw what the man was wearing: He was wielding a dagger! 

Shank rushed forward with the obvious intention of ending Jaime's life the fast way. Jaime watched the dagger getting closer and closer, too shocked to move. 

Suddenly the words of Musashi, the traveler from the east that had stayed two weeks in Candlekeep, probably the most important two weeks ever for Jaime, came 

"When you are fighting an enemy, you have to think. Think carefully if you are planning an attack. Think fast in the middle of the combat. But if you are in an ambush, don't get surprised. Act"

Jaime stumbled backwards, falling to the ground but closely avoiding the dagger. Shank leaped at him, but he met Jaime's foot on his abdomen, getting thrown back again.

Jaime quickly got up and looked around, searching for a weapon. Yelling was out of the question. Phlydia's room was in the farthest corner of Candlekeep. He should know it, Imoen and him had played there many times.

Shank was getting closer again. Jaime grabbed the covers of the bed, planning to use them as a defense, but froze when he saw who was laying under them. 

It was Phlydia!

She was dead. Her throat was red with dry blood. Her eyes were open, and her head was leaned to Jaime's side. She seemed to be looking at him.

Seizing the opportunity of Jaime's distraction, Shank rushed forward again. 

"Remember. You are strong, but not the strongest human being. You must try not to use only your strength, but your dexterity as well. A true saint of the sword uses his speed and his dexterity far more often than the strength"

Jaime was again too stunned to react. But his body moved on his own accord. His left hand impacted against the dagger hand of Shank, moving it slightly to the right side, passing Jaime's body for his left side.

Jaime's left hand grabbed the other's wrist, and quickly, but almost delicately, he twisted it, using the momentum of the killer.

The dagger fell down, and before Shank could react, Jaime had struck him right in the face with the fist.

Shank cursed, and grabbed a short curved sword from the back of his shirt. Jaime grabbed the dagger. He was trembling. He couldn't stop the shake of his legs, and the knuckles of the hand that held the dagger were white. His breathing was fast. Who was this man? He was trying to kill him! It had to be a mistake!

"Try to relax, even in the middle of combat. The worse that can happen is that they kill you"

Jaime tried to breathe slowly, although he could still hear the heart beating too fast. He separated the feet to assume a defense stance.

- He told me you could be dangerous. I'll say that. – said Shank

Jaime waited, analyzing his position.

"Taunting an opponent is very often done and hardly ever useful. Don't lose your time. Analyze your enemy. Examine your surroundings. But don't lose time taunting"

- I'm going to pull out your eyes, and then I'm eating your heart with a spoon – continued Shank

Jaime just waited. He was aware of the nervousness of his enemy. He was aware that his enemy apparently felt less secure with the short sword than with the dagger. He was aware of the light sweat of his enemy. He was painfully aware of the stench of death that was coming from the body on the bed.

Shank started coming forward, and Jaime slowly retreated

"Almost everybody in the West carries some kind of armor to survive. You say you don't want to. Then you must be careful. Their strength is that they are protected. That is your weakness. From your weakness comes your strength. You can move far faster than any of them"

Jaime stopped moving to not run out of space too soon.

Shank jumped and tried to stab him. Jaime parried the attack. Shank cursed, feigned an attack for the right and hit for the left. Jaime parried again, and even managed to launch a clumsy counter-attack, that however almost succeeded.

- You know, you are... – started Shank, hoping to distract Jaime, just before charging again.

"Feet. Use your feet and your hands, not only your arm. You are fighting against a human being, not against a piece of wood"

Jaime put the weight of his body on his right feet, moving the left backwards, and jumped to the right avoiding easily the sword. Then he used his left foot to launch himself forward, exactly in front of his enemy's body, while the sword continued his way cutting the air.

Shank tried to turn back the sword, but Jaime was already in a superior position. 

"The first kill is always the hardest. I pray you never have to kill. Because it gets easier and easier" 

Jaime struck, stabbing Shank deep in the gut.

Shank screamed of pain, while Jaime moved swiftly backwards. There was a beginning of a smile on his lips.

"If your enemy is slightly hurt, the fight is not finished. If he is dead, the fight is finished. If he is gravely injured, the fight should end if the winner is honorable"

Shank tried to move away, but Jaime was having none of it. He struck again, in the abdomen, and again in the torso. Shank's cries were louder. Jaime was openly smiling now. 

Shank tried to move the sword, but Jaime held the sword hand with his free hand, and cut the whole wrist with a swift move. Shank was crying at the top of his lungs. Jaime was already laughing.

"Don't ever torture a fallen foe. Torture is for those sick of heart. Remember that you have shared the bond of fighting to death, and only for different circumstances your roles are not reversed. Do unto your fallen enemy as you would like to be done onto you.

Shank fell to the floor and tried to crawl away from Jaime. But the winner of the fight held him by the hair, and looked in his eyes. Shank screamed again when he saw the eyes of Jaime. They were bottomless pools of pure darkness. 

Jaime struck again, again, again, and again. Always being a little careful not to perforate vital organs. Shank didn't have enough air left to scream, and the sound of Jaime's laugh filled the room.

Death was coming to the failed killer, but Jaime was faster. He hit first between the ribs, straight through the right lung, and then before the killer could feel the pain, Jaime struck again, this time aiming for the heart.

"The neck is one of the weakest parts of the body, and it is protected very few times. If you can strike there, strike...

Jaime hit him in the neck, cutting the jugular. A mortal wound if his enemy wouldn't be dead

"... However, striking in the head is usually a waste of time. It is well protected, it's hard to hit, and it leaves you open. Except, of course, if your enemy is on the floor and you are above him. But in those cases the honourable warrior would let his enemy time to get up"

Jaime introduced the dagger in the head of his enemy till the hilt, then twisted it inside the head. Blood was pouring from the head and the eyes. Jaime was crying with happiness.

Jaime finally moved away from the mutilated corpse. He breathed rapidly. 

The end was coming.

He put each hand on the opposite side arm. He was breathing even faster. He was starting to feel uncomfortable in that flesh body.

The end was coming. 

He dug his nails on the arms, getting slowly through the flesh. He was feeling the power

The end was coming. 

He dug even deeper, while blood started to leave the body through the wounds. It was time to get rid of the flesh and show his true darkness. He was Murder incarnate. 

The end was coming.

A movement distracted Jaime. It was a small butterfly, with the colour of a sapphire. Jaime smiled with brilliant blood in the eyes. He picked the dagger, and threw it with deadly accuracy at the butterfly. 

The dagger flew true, and it hit the butterfly through the centre, a little for the right. Both the dagger and the butterfly got trapped in the wood of the wardrobe.

Jaime started to laugh again, feeling happy for the new murder he had committed. But he felt disappointed when he saw that the butterfly was still alive. It was moving the wings, however very weakly.

Jaime started to move forward, still laughing. But as he was getting closer, the laugh started to wane. When he got near the butterfly, he wasn't laughing anymore.

Jaime blinked and looked around, first to Shank and then to Phlydia. 

- What... what happened? – asked Jaime. He remembered the fight... he was winning, he had won... and then... then he had... and then he had seen the butterfly and he had... had...

He watched his arms. They were bleeding. Thick trickles of warm blood were flowing down his arms. Who had...? Shank... No... It was... No!

He looked at Shank

- S-sorry... I d-didn't mean to... – muttered. He looked again to the butterfly – I... I am s-sorry. B-b-but... It wasn't me! I don't know how to throw daggers! – He realized he was trying to convince himself even as the words were leaving his mouth

The butterfly was still moving. Jaime moved away terrified. He looked again to Phlydia. Her eyes were fixed upon Jaime.

- I... I am sorry... I

Jaime turned to Shank. The puddle of blood was still moving. And the blood was coming closer to him. Jaime moved away from the blood. When he looked again to Shank, he could have sworn the face was smiling, smiling even of blood continued falling from the mouth.

- I didn't mean to...

He turned again to Phlydia. Her eyes were still upon him. They were accusing him. 

- I... I... – Jaime put his hands in front of him as a defence against those eyes. But his hands were covered with blood.

He turned again to Shank. He was smiling. Blood was still coming from his eyes and his mouth.

- No!

Phlydia was still looking at him. Accusing him. She was dead because of him.

_You killed me_

- No! – screamed Jaime

Shank was smiling. He was inviting him to keep the killing.

_You killed me_

- No! – screamed Jaime again.

Jaime turned around and, utterly horrified, left running the room with blood and the stench of death impregnated in his clothes and his body.

The butterfly moved one last time, and then it stopped. 

The butterfly was finally dead.

And somewhere, something started laughing a cruel laugh.

_The end is coming!_


End file.
